Blake
“What’s that look?” Katherine asks as she turns to me.
“What look?”
We've barely moved after this latest romp, and I’m slowly beginning to catch my breath. I should feel spent. But oddly, I seem to still be full of life –in more ways than one.
“You’ve got that Cheshire cat smile,” she says. “You know, the one that says you’re just too pleased with yourself. Either that or you've won an obscene amount of money in the last thirty minutes. Which is it?”
I laugh, because she’s caught me. I am pleased with myself. Being with her makes me feel good, but I’m not about to tell her what I’m feeling.
Instead I look out the window and say, “Nothing. Really, it’s nothing.”
It’s easier for me to act like what just happened between us is no big deal. My typical M.O. is to have sex, lay next to the woman for exactly one minute and fifteen seconds (which I am very good at counting silently to myself), and then make my excuses and leave.
But both times with Katherine, last night, and just now, I’m not preparing my exit remarks and surprise, surprise, I’m in no hurry to get out her apartment. I’m want to show her what I brought.
“Whatever you say,” she interrupts my thoughts, “I’m not going to hold it against you. But admit it, you were thinking of something. Was it about your next appointment…after me that is?”
It’s obvious my lack of communication is making her have second thoughts about how utterly sexy and desirable she is, and that’s not what I intended. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her and I need to stomp on this line of questioning quick.
“If you must know,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, “I’m smiling because of you.”
There, I did it. Feelings out in the open, like a pair of perfectly ripped jeans on display in the main window at Saks Fifth Avenue.
“Me?” she asks in a way that’s devoid of any pretention, and then she reaches over and gives me a soft kiss.
“Hmm…” The woman’s got me purring, for fuck’s sakes.
I am what’s typically known as a romantic dilettante and a serial dater, but this woman has got me by the balls.
That’s why I want her to see what I’ve brought. I want her to understand what’s going on. That is if I can explain it, because I for one am baffled as shit. It’s better if I just cut to the chase.
“I’ve got something to show you,” I say, and move from the bed.
Pulling the sketch out of my shoulder bag, I hold it close as I sit back on the bed. I can tell I’ve piqued her curiosity.
“What's that?” she asks, sitting up.
“Listen, about this morning, I know I left in a hurry—”
“I’ll say you did. In fact, I was kind of surprised when I saw you at my door today. I thought your hasty exit was a way of saying, ‘see you later, bye.’
“No, that’s not it,” I say.
Katherine looks vulnerable, and a little hurt. It’s the last thing I want because I need her to understand what’s happened to me since I met her.
“You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. I’m a big girl. I know what I’m getting into with you.”
“It’s really not like that...I mean…awww, hell…”
How do I explain to her what I’m feeling when I don’t even know what I’m feeling? This is so completely new to me I’m at a loss for words, a rarity in my life. I need to move this thing along before it gets any more uncomfortable for us.
“Here,” I say, handing her the sketch.
I'm expecting a reaction from her, some form of expression, anything. A moan, a grunt, a sigh, but all I’m getting is silence. Ten seconds…twenty seconds…a minute…
“Say something,” I finally blurt out, with a hint of exasperation in my voice.
“I’m…I…I’m not sure what to say.”
“Well, do you like it?”
“When did you draw this, when I was sleeping?” she asks. And I can’t tell if she’s annoyed or elated because neither her voice nor her face register any emotion.
“Yes but, actually, it’s from memory. See, that’s why I didn’t wait for you to wake up. I was in the studio all morning.”
Katherine purses her lips and looks out the window and I feel as if I’m losing her. I reach out for her, putting my hand on her thigh because I want to keep this connection between us. I want Katherine, I want this, I want the painting to come to life, I want all of it. So I tell her the truth.
“You’ve sparked something inside of me that I thought was dead.”
She raises an eyebrow and stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“This sketch…”
I can see she’s searching for what to say.
“…it’s so personal.”
For a moment I don't know how to respond.
“It's what I see,” I finally offer. "You’re a beautiful woman. And I know that's like, the oldest cliché of all time, but it's true.
“So here’s the thing,” I look into her chocolate-brown eyes and I'm momentarily lost. “I've got to have you.”
Now she laughs in earnest. “You just did, and I’m not quite ready for another go.”
Smiling, I shake my head, “No, I mean I need you to pose for me.”
Katherine gives me a concerned look. “Hello, have we not met? Let me introduce myself, I’m Katherine. I’m a writer. Not a model.”
“Look at this,” I say pointing to my sketch of her, “I did that from memory, and we both know it’s damn good. But it’s just a start.” I run my fingers through my hair.
“How can I put this? You’re a writer, and I’m sure you’ve written dozens and dozens of outlines, but those outlines aren’t a completed manuscript. Well, this drawing isn’t a painting. It’s just an outline and I want – no…I need to bring it to life. Please, you've got to sit for me while I paint you.”